Dear John
by maryjayne.kojetin
Summary: Final story in the Loving Watson Series


I would ask you to forgive me for every word that I'm about to write, but this is the kind of thing that you live for isn't it; Sentiment at it's finest? And this isn't just any sentiment, but sentiment from _me_; me taking down my shields, baring my heart, and maybe a little bit of my soul. So, I won't ask for your forgiveness. I also won't ask for my own, because there is nothing weak or disadvantaged in anything sentimental that I feel for you. There is nothing weak or disadvantaged in the love that I have for you.

I was closed off from the world for no other reason than my own perception of what the world was. Yes, I had a difficult time as a child, as an awkward teenager who knew more than anyone should possibly know, but if I'm truthful with myself, I made everything much harder on myself than it needed to be, by deciding that not caring was the best route to take. I made myself who I am, and I have never regretted that, though I acknowledge that I could have made my life go a different way if I had wanted to. That being said, cutting me off from attachment, from feelings, from the possibility of love caused my world to be very small. I'm not afraid to admit to you that I wasn't just alone John, I was lonely.

I have led everyone, including you, to believe that the time in my life when I turned to drugs was all a benefit for the sanity of my mind, and yes, it was. But the distraction they gave my mind was only a pleasant side effect to the distraction I was trying to create in my heart; I have always felt more than I will let anyone know. But then, you knew that already didn't you? I may have been able to look at you on our very first meeting and know things about you without you ever having to open your mouth; I still may be able to do that to you, but you have always known things about me as well, without me ever having to tell you. After all, you knew I loved you before barely even had a chance to know it myself.

Without you, I would not only be lonely again, but I would be alone in every sense of the word; not just physically alone in this space; within the walls of our flat, between the sheets of our bed, but alone in my own mind, in my heart, and yes, in my soul. I am no longer just myself John, but rather I am _us_, and I would not know how to un-be that. Because drinking your exceptional tea, resting my head on your shoulder, nearly dying together on an almost regular basis, dumping a little extra milk down the sink drain just to see that beautiful look of annoyance on your face when you open the fridge, watching you sleep, kissing you, feeling you, knowing every plane of your body- these are the things I am addicted to- Loving you, John Watson, is what I am hopelessly, helplessly addicted to, and I do not intend on ever kicking the habit of you.

Even now, as I'm writing this, do you know what else I'm doing? I'm sitting next to you in our bed, just looking at you. Your chest is a beautiful rhythm of sleep, your hair a bit disheveled, and the sheets you're clinging to a delightful testament to the love we just made. I can see the wound on your shoulder; that beautiful scar from that horrific moment that brought you home to London and that brought you to me. I know that you hate it; that you find it ugly, an occasional nuisance when the pain flares up again, but I will never hate it. I will always love it; always thank it, because without it, you wouldn't be here. Of course, that isn't the only scar you bear is it? You've one on your heart; a slightly crooked scar that aligns perfectly with the one also on my heart, because I put them there.

I told you, our first night together, that I was married to my work, and then at some point in time you became as much a part of the work as the criminals and the cases, and then at another point in time the work didn't matter at all anymore. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that will ever matter is loving you, and I do. I love you more than these words can ever tell you, more than I can ever tell you, or express to you in any other way.

You are the only thing that matters to me. And I will die very happy knowing I was able to love you.


End file.
